Into Marvelous Light IV (SHIELD's Soul)
by skyewardfitzsimmonsphilinda
Summary: The fourth part of "Into Marvelous Light," an Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. AU in which Coulson finds the lost boy first. "Non nobis solum nati sumus."
1. The Assignment

The summer flew by, as Grant had known it would. His days were full—he trained harder with Natasha and Clint then he ever had before, and most nights Coulson joined them, helping Grant perfect his technique. He worked most days at the animal shelter now, and Skye joined him when she could (somehow she even convinced Pepper to let her bring hope an old, tired huskie who had been recently abandoned, and Tony had fallen in love with it). Fitz and Simmons spent most of their days at the Hub, and if there were more explosions in the labs downstairs than usual, Agent Hand never mentioned it.

It was in late August that Thor announced he was going home to Asgard, and Jane announced that she was going with him to learn more about the science of his realm. There was a send-off party, at which Darcy got drunk and cried, Skye _attempted _to get drunk (until Steve put the alcohol out of her reach) and then cried, and Grant picked arguments with everyone in the room until Thor stopped him by enveloping him in a hug that Grant pretended not to welcome.

"I will visit soon, young one," he promised, and then he smiled across the room at Jane. "And someday, perhaps, your father will let me take you to Asgard to visit."

Behind him, Fitz's perked up. "Can _I _come?" he asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Think of that, Simmons, we could learn about interstellar travel and the—god, Simmons, we could learn about the whole universe if we went there. And maybe we could look at their weaponry and find out why our night-night gun keeps exploding"—

"Yes, our night-night gun," Simmons agreed nervously, avoiding her mother's gaze. "Which we were building and testing in approved areas only. And which we've never built or tested downstairs even once this summer, because we know better, right Fitz?"

Ward grinned, and Lily Simmons rolled her eyes.

Thor left later that night, opening the portal from the roof where they always practiced sparring, while Ward watched wide-eyed, his eyes still focused on the darkening sky long after Thor and Jane had disappeared and the portal had closed.

"Is this how he came down from Asgard?" he asked Coulson. "Were you there to see it?"

Coulson shook his head. "I wasn't there to see it," he said. "Darcy and Jane and Dr. Selvig were, though, and"—

"_Crazy_ doctor Selvig?" Ward interrupted.

"He's not crazy," Coulson reproved. "He's a brilliant scientist, and a good man."

"I thought he sort of went bat-shit crazy during the battle of New York," Ward said. "I heard that he"—

"He wasn't the only one Loki fucked with," Clint interrupted them suddenly, his face hard as he watched the dark night sky where Thor's portal had closed. "Believe me, kid, it was nothing to be laughing about."

Ward's smirk slipped off his face. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't think"—he stopped and looked away.

Natasha joined them, weaving her fingers through Clint's, and he relaxed slightly.

"Will Loki come back?" Ward asked suddenly, looking at Coulson.

"He's in prison on Asgard right now," Coulson answered quietly. "So no, he won't come back."

"Garrett escaped from prison once."

"He escaped from a _holding cell_ here," Coulson corrected. "Not a prison. And certainly not an Asgardian one."

"What was it like?" Ward persisted curiously, turning to Natasha. "In New York? None of you ever talk about it. Nat? What was it like?"

"Grant," Coulson said warningly, but Natasha shook her head.

"It's okay," she told him. "And Grant…I hope you never find out what it was like. There's a reason we don't talk about it."

Grant looked down. "I hear stories from the agents," he said. "And they're always asking me if which stories are true, because I live with the people who saved the world."

"There's as much myth as truth in some of the stories floating around," Steve told him, joining them. "And I can tell you this: none of it was as heroic or glamorous as any of the stories make it sound."

"I didn't think it sounded glamorous," Ward said defensively. "Some of the agents who told me the stories thought it did, but I just thought…well, I wondered if it was worth it. Because it cost you all a hell of a lot."

The four adults stared at him, and he could see the memories etched on their faces.

_God, Darcy was right when she said they looked so old sometimes. _

"No one's there before the war to tell you that there _is_ a cost," Steve said softly, looking out at the grounds of the Hub, away from the rest of them. "But yes. It was worth it."

Grant looked at Coulson and Clint, who were nodding, and Natasha, who looked slightly paler than normal.

"At the time, you don't really wonder if it's worth it, because you know what you have to do," Natasha told him. "But _god_ the costs add up. You know we almost lost Coulson, didn't you?"

"_What_?" Grant looked up at Coulson.

"Natasha," Coulson shook his head, but Ward glared at her.

"Nobody told me that," he snapped. "What happened?"

"Loki had escaped from his cell before the Battle of New York, and Coulson tried to stop him," Natasha said. "Thank god, Loki didn't bother to deal with Coulson himself, or he probably wouldn't have survived. Loki sent one of his sharpshooters after Coulson, and Coulson took three bullets to the gut."

Ward caught his breath, and then another thought struck him as he looked at Clint—

"If you were wondering if it was me," Clint said harshly. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"It wasn't," Tasha said. "Three slugs, Soviet rifling, completely untraceable. You didn't have that kind of weapon."

"And it doesn't matter," Coulson said firmly. "I'm alive, Clint's fine, and Loki's gone."

"You almost _died_ and you didn't tell me?" Ward looked up at him angrily.

"My reaction exactly," May interrupted him as she joined them. "It's a good thing you're no longer on active ops, because I think I would have kicked your ass myself for putting yourself in that kind of danger."

Coulson rolled his eyes. "You're ignoring the fact that there were more important things on the line during the Battle of New York," he said.

"No there wasn't," Ward snapped.

May turned to Coulson. "See?" she said. "The kid agrees. So don't even think about volunteering to go with any team"—

"You were thinking of going on an active op?" Ward demanded, and Coulson sighed.

"May"—

"No," Ward said. "Now you have to tell me."

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look. "Think I'll leave this one to you, Coulson," Steve said, and Nat pulled Clint away.

"Are you really going on an active op?" Ward folded his arms angrily. "Why? You've stayed here for the past year. Why can't you just run ops from here like Agent Hand and Commander Hill do?"

"Nothing's decided yet," Coulson said calmly. "It wasn't going to be regular, either. It was just one op in Tijuana that I wanted to be on the ground when the team goes in. There's an 0-8-4 in a bunker there. Probably just a relic from New York, but I want to be there to make sure."

"Is it dangerous?" Ward demanded.

"No," Coulson said.

"Yes," May said.

"Then I'm coming," Ward said.

"_No_," Coulson and May spoke as one.

"But if you go—if you're on the ground while the team goes in—it could get dangerous. Really dangerous," Ward argued. "You've already taken bullets for S.H.I.E.L.D. Can't you—can't you just stay?"

"Grant, it's not like that" Coulson said softly. "It's a low-risk mission, and believe me, I can take care of myself on the ground."

"You're not like Thor or Steve," Grant argued. "You don't just automatically heal when you take a bullet."

"If all goes well, there won't be any bullets flying to begin with," Coulson said firmly. "The op won't take longer than twenty-four hours."

"If all goes well," Ward scoffed. "And you can stop acting like this mission isn't a big deal. If it wasn't important, it _might_ be safe. And if it wasn't important, you wouldn't be going on it. Right, May?"

"Exactly," May said, and Coulson sighed in frustration.

"Grant, this is my _job_," Coulson said. "May, you know that better than most. Neither Hand or Hill lead the ops involving 0-8-4s, and you know I'm the only level ten that knows them that well. They need me"—

"You don't understand," Ward was shouting suddenly, and when May stiffened angrily at his tone, he realized he didn't care. "_I _need you! Ineed you, and if you got shot I couldn't"—

Coulson's face changed, and he pulled Grant into his arms. "Hey," he said soothingly, and Grant realized he was shaking. "Grant, it's okay. I plan on being around a long time, kid. You're not getting rid of me that easily," he said lightly, and Grant tried to breathe.

He pulled away from Coulson and looked out over the Hub grounds, away from May's sharp look. "I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I'm fine. I'm just…I'm tired."

_And Thor and Jane left today and I'm starting at the Academy in four days and in six days it will be The Day. _

_The anniversary, two years to the day…_

Grant felt May's hand on his arm, and then Coulson moved to stand on his other side.

"I wanted to talk to you about this anyway before I went to Fury," Coulson told him quietly. "But I won't go to Fury this time. I think you're right. I can monitor the op just as well from the Hub, and I'll have a good team on the ground. Field work can wait."

Grant drew in a long breath. "No," he said finally. "I was being selfish, and I'm sorry. I know—I know you'll be fine. And I know you did ops like these before I came, but I just… I know these are the kinds of missions you love, and you should… you should go."

Coulson looked at him for a long moment. "Are you sure?" he asked searchingly.

"Yea," Grant said, turning to go downstairs where he knew Skye and FitzSimmons and the rest were waiting. "Dad, were you serious when you said we couldn't have champagne? Tony and Natasha said"—

Coulson grinned wryly. "_Yes_, I'm serious. And I'll be having a talk with Tony and Natasha."

_An encrypted hardline from the Fridge. _

"Did Coulson take the bait?" a low voice asked into the phone.

There was a low growl on the other line. "He will."

"And the other? Has he been freed?"

"Yes," the other voice said. "It is done."

"They will never see this coming," the man from the Fridge said, dry amusement in his voice.

"On the contrary," a third voice on the line said smoothly. "They will see their inevitable end coming long before they fall, and they will be able to do nothing to stop it."


	2. Rescue Mission

Grant had expected to be nervous on his first day at the Academy, but when he said goodbye to Skye that morning and walked into the Academy with Fitz on one side and Simmons on the other, he had never felt so excited. He fell in love with the Academy the moment he crossed the threshold.

It was infinitely better than his old school. For himself and the other cadets still in high school, the first block of the day contained classes that fulfilled high school disciplines. These classes, however, were practical enough that Grant wondered how he had ever hated going to school.

Instead of the average American history class, they learned a detailed history of extraterrestrial encounters the world had experienced prior to New York, complete with a lesson in how the complex political workings of the American government had played a role in covering it up from the general public. Instead of a simple speech class, which Grant would have hated under normal circumstances, he took lessons in diplomacy and the art of negotiation, including hostage negotiation. He had language classes as well, which was by far his favorite. He was already fairly proficient in Russian and Chinese, but he continued to study those, as well as beginning courses in Spanish and Arabic.

The latter part of the day, however, was directly and practically related to field agent training, mainly physical training in fitness and hand-to-hand combat, which Grant excelled at. They also took classes in the art of espionage, including an introduction to deep-cover tactics.

Coulson didn't bring up active field ops again until his third week at the Academy. Grant had been adjusting well—better than anyone had expected, really—and he had just finished recounting his day to Coulson and May, who both listened with smiles on their faces.

"And Skye is coming over tonight," Grant finished. "She likes the academy, though I think she hacked the principal's computer on the first day and got into a bit of trouble. And everyone loves FitzSimmons, of course. Fitz started a fire near explosives and almost blew up the entire lab yesterday and the teacher only laughed and said that things like that are bound to happen. And Simmons helped one of the teachers with a chemistry problem that he couldn't solve, and now they want her to be a teacher's assistant even though she's so young."

"I'm glad it's going well," Coulson said. "Did you get some supper? Or are you and Skye eating when she gets here?"

"I'll do both," Ward said. "I'm starving."

May grinned. "When I was in the Academy, my mother said I barely stopped eating long enough to do anything else," she said. "Their training regime is a tough one."

"Nat's tougher," Ward said through a mouth full of bread. "She wants me to spar with her tonight. She says she can do better than any teacher at the Academy."

"Maybe she's better at kicking ass than any of them," May said wryly. "But there's a difference between the ability to do something and the ability to teach it."

"May?" Grant asked between bites of his sandwich. "So I'm in most classes with the older cadets because I know so much Russian and sparring stuff already, and some of the cadets were telling me that… well…they wanted to know"—

He stopped, and she turned to him, her face dark suddenly. "What did they want to know?"

"What happened in Bahrain?"

May stood abruptly, knocking her chair to the floor, and left without a word.

Coulson re-entered the room, and looked at Ward sharply. "What just happened?"

Ward shook his head. "I asked a stupid question."

"Did you ask about Bahrain?" someone interrupted from the door, and Grant looked up and saw Skye standing there.

"Hey," he said. "Do you want dinner?"

"Hey," she mimicked. "Do you want to get your ass kicked?"

He rolled his eyes. "I"—

"Two rules, Grant," Skye said, dropping into a seat next to him. "You don't ask the Avengers about New York, and you don't ask Melinda May about Bahrain."

"I like both of those rules," Coulson interrupted them. "Grant, I have a meeting with Agent Hand, so I'll be back late tonight, and then I've got an op to brief early tomorrow, so I probably won't see you before school." He shrugged on his coat over his suit. "If Steve's home early enough, you can go to Amie and Aziz's tonight, but otherwise just stay here, okay?"

Grant nodded and then turned back to Skye, who draped an arm over his shoulders.

"So," she said conspiratorially, leaning in closer. "What do you say we have some fun?"

Grant looked at her suspiciously. "What kind of fun?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. computer kind of fun," Skye said nonchalantly. "You know the control room that has about a dozen computers?"

"You mean the one where only level seven agents can get into?"

Skye nodded. "Fitz wanted case files from this op that he heard about, because he wanted to look at the actual field value of this—science thing, god I don't know what he wanted to know from it, I just wanted to get him the file. Are he and Simmons coming over later?"

"Yea," Ward said, leaning down to pet Buddy, who was wagging his tail frantically. "But Skye, they'll have agents all over down on that end of the building. We won't be able to get close."

She paused, and then he shook his head.

"You're not serious."

"I—well, it would just be a minor distraction. Very minor. You wouldn't have to do much. You and Fitz could do something—I don't know—something that would cause a lot of noise. Maybe set off some fireworks? Or I could hack the security and have the gate opened, and you could be down there acting like you might be in danger. Everyone in this building loves you, they'd be down there within seconds."

Grant shook his head. "Why does it have to be me? If Fitz wants the files, why don't you just have him cause another minor explosion in one of the labs?"

"Fine," Skye said. "I'm sure Fitz'll come up with something. Do you think Jemma will mind if I ask her to come with to the computer labs? If we do get caught, we could pretend that she was just looking for her mom."

"Jemma will have a meltdown if anyone asks her questions," Ward said, grinning. "She's got the worst poker face I've ever seen."

"I know," Skye said nonchalantly. "That's why if anyone finds us, I'll tell them she wants her mom because she got her period for the first time, and they'll stop asking questions."

Grant, who had just taken a sip of water, nearly snorted it out his nose. "Jemma will kill you."

"Yup," Skye nodded cheerfully.

"What's the case Fitz wants to see?"

"Some active op that went down last week in Santa Fe," Skye shrugged. "There was this new tracking device that they had put on someone they'd been secretly monitoring, and Fitz wanted to see how it had worked."

"I heard Steve talking about Santa Fe," Ward said, his forehead creasing. "I heard some stuff went wrong."

"And it's classified," Skye said.

"Which means it's not just Fitz who's curious. It's you."

She smiled, pushing back her chair. "Of course I'm curious. Aren't you?"

He hesitated, looking across the room towards Steve and Nat, who were leaning against the kitchen counter, beers in hand.

"Okay," he said. "But we have to take the long way down so we don't have to go past Agent Hand's office. Coulson has a meeting with her tonight."

Fitz eagerly agreed to cause a commotion in one of the labs, and Grant followed him to the labs with equal parts worry and anticipation. Simmons followed Skye in the opposite direction, looking over her shoulder every few seconds so obviously that it made Grant cringe.

They never made it to the labs, however.

They were just outside when they had to duck into a storage closet to avoid a group of level six agents who paused just outside to talk.

"Are Agent Hand and Agent Coulson done with the briefing yet?" one asked, and the other two laughed.

"There was no briefing," one answered, and Ward froze.

"They said"—

"They're keeping it on the down low," the third interrupted. "Coulson is on an active op to check out an 0-8-4 just outside of Tijuana. It's a short op—he'll be back by tomorrow afternoon—but I think they didn't want the kid to worry."

"The kid's in the Academy now, isn't he?" the first asked casually. "Heard he was good. Kenzie from intelligence says he's the best they've seen since Romanov, and Hill said"—

Ward flung the closet door open, and Fitz lunged to stop him a second too late. All three agents jumped.

"What"—

"Did you hear"—

"Move," Ward snarled, shoving past them and ignoring them as he stalked down the hallway. He ignored Fitz, too, who caught up with him as he reached the corner.

"Grant, I'm sure Coulson is fine"—

"No," Ward snapped. "He should have told me."

"I know, but"—

"It's an 0-8-4, Fitz. It could be anything. Alien shit, probably. Last time there was an 0-8-4 mission, there were bullets flying from three different government intelligence agencies and one rebel group, and two of our own got shot."

"What?" Fitz demanded. "How do you know?"

"Skye and I looked it up the other night," Ward answered carelessly, shoving the door at the end of the hallway open. "Fitz, do you have one of those prototype guns you're building with you right now?"

Fitz's eyes widened. "You mean the night-night guns?"

"Yea, give it here. And are you _really _calling them that?"

Fitz handed him the night-night gun. "Where are you going? Ward!"

Ward shoved open another door and entered a long, high-ceilinged room that contained several transports, including a shiny, vintage red car with the word _Lola_ imprinted on the back in fancy gold lettering.

"Ward. You're not."

"Tell Skye I hope this distraction was good enough," Ward said recklessly.

"Ward, stop. You have to think about this, Ward, please"—

"Coulson could be in danger right now," Ward said stubbornly, hopping into the front seat of the red car. "I'm going. I know how to fight, and if they're in trouble, I'll help them out of it."

"Ward, you're not serious. And you don't have keys"—

But Ward had already hotwired the car—a skill he had learned from watching Natasha—and Fitz's words were lost in the sound of the engine revving.

"You won't get the gate open," Fitz protested feebly.

"But you'll open it for me, right?" Ward asked. "Fitz, you know I need to do this. I need to go."

"Coulson will be pissed. Really, _really_ pissed."

"Well, I'm pissed because he freaking _lied_ to me," Ward snapped, and Fitz nodded finally.

"Okay. How do I open the gate?"

Ward gave him directions in a clipped, terse tone, and Fitz succeeded in opening the gate just as the door at the opposite end of the room opened and the level sevens they'd eavesdropped on entered, concern plastered across their faces.

Ward dropped the car into gear and hit the gas hard, and within minutes he was out in the greater compound. He had very little practice driving, of course, though Nat had let him behind the wheel of a car before unbeknownst to Coulson. Lola, of course, was different than any other car, so Ward only had to get clear of the main building, enter the coordinates for Tijuana, and set the plane into aerial mode.

He was sure they would come after him as soon as they knew, though they wouldn't be able to communicate with Coulson. Since it was a classified 0-8-4 mission, there wouldn't be much ground communication, and Coulson or a member of his ground team would have to initiate any contact.

As for the rest, Ward didn't have much time to wonder about it—or to care. He knew what they would all say—that it was reckless and stupid and he should know better—but right now, the thought of Coulson facing down the end of a gun drove every other thought from his mind.

Grant Ward, S.H.I.E.L.D. cadet, was on his first rescue mission.


	3. Firefight

It took Grant almost three hours to get there, despite putting Lola to maximum speed and then setting it on autopilot. He arrived outside of Tijuana, and parked Lola as inconspicuously as he could. He took a cab to the opposite edge of town, where the reported 0-8-4 action had taken place.

When he arrived at the edge of town, he saw that his phone had seven missed calls from Skye, and more from Steve and May. He switched his phone off, disabling the GPS setting so they couldn't track him. Besides, they knew where he had went, and he was screwed regardless.

Ward found them outside of the town, in a small clearing on the other side of a cluster of trees. Coulson and a group of agents were standing around an object half-buried in the ground. One agent had miniature drones sweeping the surrounding area, and another was scanning the 0-8-4, which Ward couldn't get a clear look at.

Instinctively, Ward's gaze swept the surrounding tree-line for anything out of place. Coulson's position was vulnerable—in a clearing in the woods, there was little way to detect a threat before it came. They could be surrounded by hostiles—or obstinate runaway teenagers, Ward reflected ruefully—and never even know.

"Warning: life form detected," an automated voice said, and Ward froze.

"Goddamnit," the agent operating the drones said. "It says that every time there's so much as a squirrel. Jay, check it out?"

Ward scrambled back as quickly as he dared as the agent named Jay approached. From his position in the thick undergrowth near the edge of the clearing, Ward could still see Coulson, whose hand was instinctively resting on his gun.

God, if one kid could sneak up on them so easily, how easy would it be for hostile agents to completely annihilate the whole team?

Jay only performed a half-hearted search, which Ward resolved to rat him out for as soon as Coulson and his team were safe, and then went back to searching.

Coulson, however, seemed to remain unconvinced that all was well, though he didn't look in the direction of the bushes where Ward was hiding.

Slowly, Ward inched forward so he could see the tree line again.

"Freeze!"

Two agents stood behind him, guns drawn, and then Coulson as there, and in a second shock and worry and rage crashed across his face, replacing his distant-agent look with the look of a very pissed-off dad.

Grant scrambled to his feet, but Coulson wasn't even looking at him.

"Put your guns away," he barked, stepping instinctively between Grant and the drawn weapons, and the agents complied quickly. As soon as the guns were safely away, he whirled on Grant, who flinched involuntarily.

"Grant," Coulson said, his tone a deadly quiet. "_What. The. Hell_."

"You lied to me," Grant snapped. "You said you were just going to meet with Agent Hand, and you took off here without telling me you were going. And you're in a vulnerable position here—no aerial view to detect threats that could be coming, not even a goddamn sniper in one of the trees just in case"—

"So you're telling me that you ran away, presumably stole some kind of vehicle to get here, and traveled three hundred miles into hostile territory where a potentially dangerous 0-8-4 was located _just so you could tell me how to run my own goddamn op_?" Coulson shouted, and even the agents behind him flinched slightly.

"Well, obviously someone needs to," Grant muttered under his breath. "You could be in danger"—

Coulson raised a hand to stop his words, but when Grant flinched involuntarily as if he expected to be struck, Coulson's face softened for one brief moment. "Wen, Samantha, you two take him back to the transport."

"No"—Ward began.

"I don't want to hear it," Coulson said sharply. "What did you use to get here?"

Ward looked away.

"_Grant_."

Wordlessly, Grant held out the keys to Lola, and Coulson's face went another shade darker.

"Dad, I"—

Coulson turned away sharply, pocketing the keys. "Wen. Sam. Take him away."

Wen, one of the youngest men on the assignment, placed a hand on Ward's arm, which he shook off immediately. "Come on, kid," Wen said. "You and Sam and I can wait for them at the transport. They won't be long."

Sam, a young-ish woman with a short, clearly un-tame-able afro, fell into step beside them as they left the clearing.

"How's the kid?" Wen asked over Grant's head, and Sam grinned.

"Turned three last week," she said, and he was glad they left him out of the small talk. "Think that 0-8-4's actually something?"

Wen looked at Grant, then shrugged. "I don't think so. Seems like more hype than anything, really."

Grant looked back over his shoulder briefly, and Coulson was standing still, watching them go. His hand was still resting ever-so-casually on his gun, and his expression was resigned—almost sad—when he looked at Grant—and then Grant understood exactly what Coulson had just done.

He had sent him with two agents—he had only needed one, really, and Ward knew it—and Coulson would have normally picked a senior agent who wouldn't put up with Grant's bullshit… but Coulson had sent the youngest agent, probably fresh out of the academy, and the agent with a little kid… Coulson still had his hand on his gun, waiting, waiting for something—

Coulson was trying to save the ones he could, because they were already under surveillance.

Ward twisted away from Wen, who grabbed him immediately.

"Come on, kid, you heard Coulson"—

"It's a trap!" Grant said wildly. "They're already trapped and he was trying to get you out of it"—

"Kid, if you don't start walking, I'm going to tase you," Sam snapped. "I don't think Coulson will care, do you, Wen?"

Wen raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly. "You might get a medal. Come on, kid. I know you're here because you were worried about him, but it isn't a trap. It's just an op."

"It's not. It's an 0-8-4 op and it's dangerous," Ward insisted, twisting out of Wen's grip again.

"I swear to god, kid"—Sam began impatiently, but Ward cut her off.

"Wen's the youngest agent, isn't he?" Ward insisted. "Just out of the academy. Probably a legacy. And you have a kid—and you're having another one, right? And Coulson knows it, and he knows he can't send his whole team away, or whoever set this trap is going to take everyone out, so he's saving who he could and he picked you"—

Sam shook her head. "That's a bullshit story," she said. "Anyone could have told you I was pregnant. I haven't been covering it up. Exactly."

"_I_ didn't know, and neither did Hand, or she wouldn't have assigned you," Wen said thoughtfully, stopping and staring down at Ward. "Maybe the kid has a point"—

And then a gunshot cracked behind them, and Ward took off running back towards the clearing, shouting recklessly for Coulson.

There were snipers in the trees above the clearing, and a helicopter suddenly above them and _goddamnit why hadn't Coulson thought to ask for aerial coverage? _

Agents were running from the clearing, and suddenly Ward was in the clearing.

Frozen.

He had seen guns before. Seen bullets. Seen death.

But, dear _god_ a firefight was completely different, and he was frozen frozen frozen.

Someone grabbed his arm, and then Coulson was dragging him towards cover, shouting for Sam and Wen to get back to the transport, that he would take care of Ward.

Agents were fleeing—there was at least one on the ground, not moving, and one was stumbling, clearly injured, but firing up at the snipers, who were hidden in the thick leaf coverage.

"_Grant! _We need to run!" Coulson was dragging him, and, finally, Ward snapped out of it.

He turned and fired Fitz's icer into the trees—once, twice, three times—and three snipers fell in rapid succession.

"Trust me and _go_," Coulson shouted, giving him one last shove before running back towards the clearing and his fallen agent.

Grant turned and fired again, and another sniper fell, but someone in the helicopter above was still firing rapidly.

When he reached the clearing, Coulson was trying to lift the fallen agent to his feet, and then—

Coulson fell, his body spinning with the impact of a bullet, and Grant's scream echoed through that godforsaken clearing as if it would never stop.


	4. Purgatory

Coulson's body his the ground with a dull thump, and Grant threw caution to the wind. He fired recklessly towards the helicopter, not caring how sure his aim was. He reached Coulson's side, where the man lay curled over his wounded agent.

"Dad—Dad"—he shouted frantically, and Coulson looked up at him, his eyes un-focused.

"Run," Coulson whispered. "Grant. Please."

"No," Ward shook his head, only vaguely aware that the bullets had stopped flying. "I'm not leaving you. And you're gonna be okay, you have to be okay"—

"Stand down, kid," a harsh voice said, and Grant realized with a sickening feeling that the firing had only stopped because the two gunman had been dropped into the clearing. "Coulson's going with us."

Grant fired. Once. Twice.

And both gunmen were on the ground, unconscious.

He didn't have to think about his next move, either—it was instinct that forced him to shaky feet, instinct that caused his fingers to close coldly over the fallen soldier's gun and aim it up at the helicopter.

He only had to fire once, and the pilot turned the helicopter and retreated.

And then Grant was alone with Coulson again, and Coulson's eyes were closing and there was too much blood—

A second later the clearing was full again, this time with the back-up S.H.I.E.L.D. team and a med team. Someone dragged Grant back from Coulson as the med team swarmed, and Grant threw a flailing punch that was easily blocked.

"Don't," Steve's voice was colder and angrier than he had ever heard.

Grant went completely still, and Steve's hand closed over his shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully. When Grant winced, Steve's grip loosened, but only slightly.

"You hurt?" Steve asked shortly, not looking down at him.

Ward shook his head.

Steve waves his hand to a member of the med team. "The kid needs a shock blanket," he called. "And Grant," his voice was a shade softer. "You need to put the gun down."

Ward stared down at his hand in shock, and then dropped the gun with a clatter.

"Let's get you out of here," Steve's eyes searched the sky with practiced precision. "They might be back."

"They won't be," Ward said. "It was supposed to be a stealth op, and they won't come without their cover of surprise. They wanted to take Coulson with them, too. Which means that it was probably another inside job. Did someone let Garrett break out of prison again?"

"That's enough," Steve said stiffly, his hand tightening on Ward's shoulder again. "When S.H.I.E.L.D. wants your opinions on a case, they'll ask."

Ward dropped his head, and Steve pulled him unceremoniously away, tossing a shock blanket over his shoulders as they went.

When they reached the transport, May and Natasha was waiting just inside, anger burned across their faces like a brand.

"What the _hell_ did you do?" Natasha demanded. "Where's Coulson?"

Steve shot a look at her. "In med."

May's head snapped up. "_What_?"

"Gunshot," Steve said shortly. "Lost some blood, but they think he'll be okay."

"They _think_?" Grant demanded, turning white, and the three adults turned to him sharply.

"Yes," Steve said shortly. "They _think_ he's going to be alright, but they have to get him to the nearest med facility before they'll know. And _you_, kid, are going home."

"No. I want to stay with Coulson."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "And what exactly do you plan on doing that will somehow help Coulson get better?"

Ward looked down. "I don't—I don't want to leave him."

"Believe me, he's going to be getting the best medical care S.H.I.E.L.D. can provide," Steve said, his voice softening just slightly. "You won't be allowed to see him until he's better, anyway. So we're going home." Steve turned, waving his hand to a nearby agent that they were ready to stow the landing gear and take off.

"No," Grant said desperately. "No. I'll—I'll run away again."

Steve turned around slowly, shoulders stiff, and May and Natasha stared down at him with looks that could kill. "You do that, and I'll let May and Nat go bring you back," he said icily, his face hard. "And I don't think they'll be offering you shock blankets or making sure you're safe, kid."

Grant felt sick to his stomach.

He should never have come.

Of course he shouldn't have.

What had he been thinking? It didn't matter that Coulson hadn't told him the whole truth—he should have just stayed at home; he shouldn't have been so stupid—and now he had gotten Coulson shot—

May took a seat next to him, staring forward silently, and Grant shrunk into the seat. Steve seated himself on the other side, and Nat sat down across from him.

Grant Ward had spent so many years invisible, and now there was nothing he wanted more than to disappear.

Nat glanced down at her phone, and then looked up at Steve. "Clint says that Banner's flying back from Calcutta—apparently Tony has a private jet there for him, so he should be at the hospital with Coulson in a few hours. And Dr. Simmons is flying down as we speak." Grant let out his breath in a relieved _whoosh_, and she turned to him. "And Clint says to tell you that if you pull shit like that ever again, he'll"—

"Nat," Steve growled.

She turned her glare on him, and he met her gaze, unperturbed.

Steve Rogers, Ward realized, was probably the only person in the world who had returned a Natasha-Romanov glare without flinching.

"Fine," Nat said sharply. "But Grant, I hope you know that there won't be any more rooftop training"—

"Nat," Steve's tone was sharper now. "Take a walk."

"We're on a plane."

"Then take a walk to the cockpit, goddamnit!" Steve snapped, and Ward flinched at their tones.

Nat stood and stalked away, and after a moment's hesitation, May got up and followed her.

Grant stared at his hands.

Everything was wrong.

_Everything_.

And it was all his fault.

_I'm sorry_, he wanted to shout. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. _

Not that it would have done any good anyway.

"Coulson's going to be okay," Steve said quietly, and when Grant looked up at him, he saw an unexpected softness behind the man's stern look.

"I'm sorry," Grant whispered, so softly he wasn't sure Steve heard him until Steve reached out and wordlessly wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

The silence stretched out for miles between them, and neither May or Natasha returned.

_Do they all hate me now? _He wanted to ask. _Are they going to kick me out? Or maybe they'll just let May and Nat use me for sparring practice…god knows they'd both enjoy it. But Coulson…Coulson... Coulson had to live. _

Grant realized vaguely that there was still blood under his fingernails.

"Steve," he said numbly. "Steve, I need to wash my hands."

"What?" Steve withdrew his arm and stared down at Ward, not understanding.

"Never mind," Ward said, and May exited the cockpit at that moment.

She looked down at his hands, seeming to notice for the first time. "Bathroom's that way," she said, jerking her head to the left, and Steve's gaze followed her eyes to Grant's hands, understanding washing over his face.

Grant didn't respond, just hurried, head ducked and shoulders drooped, towards the small bathroom at the back of the plane. Once inside, he bolted the door and turned on the water, which had very little pressure. Nevertheless, he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, scraping his raw, shaking hands until his own blood almost took the place of Coulson's.

The blood was still under the nails.

When Grant had thought about his first S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, he hadn't thought it would be like this. He hadn't thought that blood stained your hands that way, that the sounds of bullets flying was enough to freeze your heart, that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents bled the same way his family had. He had even imagined his first firefight—imagined guts and glory, legends born from the Battle of New York, pride and victory and Coulson's look of admiration.

He hadn't imagined he'd be locked in an airplane bathroom, furiously scraping blood from his hands as he tried not to cry.

What had they told him when he asked about New York?

_It was a high price, kid. _

Some of the cadets had been talking about becoming specialists, and wondering what their first battle and their first kill would be like.

Grant scrubbed harder, and this time he realized there was tears and snot running down his face now. He'd already had his first kill—outside a Massachusetts farmhouse on a black, black day two years ago—and now he'd had his first battle.

The other cadets were all wrong.

_He'd _been wrong.

There was nothing after a fight—nothing but the urge to throw up.

There was a knock at the bathroom door.

"Grant?" It was Steve, his voice too calm, too patient, as if he understood too much. "You okay?"

_No no no I'm not. _

"Yea. Fine."

"We're landing soon, so you need to come out and sit down, okay? The pilot said it'll be a pretty abrupt landing."

Grant nodded, before realizing Steve couldn't see his nod from outside the bathroom door. "Okay. Coming," he said listlessly.

Steve was waiting outside when he opened the door. He looked intently at Grant's face, and Grant wished he had finished wiping away the traces of tears. This time, Steve's hand was gentle on his shoulder.

Nat and May were both seated when he came back out, and Nat looked at him, her face slightly calmer. Her eyes snapped to his hands, which were raw and almost bleeding from how hard he'd scrubbed, and a look passed across her face—whether it was sadness or anger or as if she felt sick, Grant couldn't tell.

Her hand snaked out and closed over his wrist, uncurling his palm so she could look at it. When she looked up at him, the anger had gone out of her eyes. "Don't do that," she said softly. "You _can't_ do that to yourself."

The wheels touched down then, and Grant looked away, glad for an interruption.

When they exited the plane, Clint was waiting for them, arms crossed.

"Heard anything about Coulson?" Steve asked immediately, and though she said nothing, May's waiting eyes focused on Clint with so much intensity Ward was sure they could burn right through him.

"He was stable enough for surgery to remove the bullet."

"He in surgery now?" Nat asked, and Clint nodded his head, still not looking at Grant.

"Last I heard."

May's phone buzzed, and she looked down at it. "In recovery now. He's stable."

"Lily and Banner are with him?" Steve asked, and May nodded.

When they entered the Hub, it was buzzing with gossip about Coulson. Steve forcibly pulled Grant to the private elevator to avoid the gossip and the stares, and May, Nat, and Clint climbed in after him.

"Skye, Pepper, and Tony are upstairs," Clint added as an afterthought. "And Darcy and FitzSimmons."

Grant blanched. He couldn't face all of them, not tonight.

Steve reached down and put a hand on his shoulder—whether to comfort him or make sure he didn't bolt, Grant couldn't tell.

Skye's arms were around him as soon as the doors opened, and _oh, thank god she didn't hate him. _

"You idiot," she muttered against his neck. "Some 'distraction,' you little shit. Next time take me with you."

Fitz was right behind her, Simmons and Buddy at his heels.

"You scared me," Fitz said, shaking his head. "Next time, let me give you a better gun."

"If I hear one more of you say '_next time_,'" Clint began, shooting a threatening look at Fitz and shaking his head.

"But did it work?" Fitz asked, his insatiable curiosity getting the better of him again.

"Fitz!" Jemma reproved. "Agent Coulson is hurt, and you're only worried about the night-night gun"—

"Of course I'm worried about Coulson!" Fitz argued, his eyes sparkling suddenly. "I just—Jemma—I don't want to think about it."

"The night-night gun worked fine," Grant said quietly.

"So, are you saying that not only did you run off on the half-assed idea that you were some kind of hero, the only weapon you took was a kid's prototype of a gun that you weren't even sure _worked_?" Clint snapped, turning on Grant finally.

Grant nodded, staring at the floor, and he heard Clint let out an impatient huff.

"That is the most idiotic"—

"Clint," Steve interrupted sharply, and Clint stopped midsentence and stalked out of the room, followed quickly by Natasha.

Darcy and Tony started talking at once—Darcy mentioning tasers and _stupid, stupid, stupid_, and Tony saying he should have just told someone—and Grant couldn't keep it all straight, but he was going to cry, he was, he was, and he was too old for this—

It was Pepper who surprised them all by pushing past Tony and May and Steve and wrapping her arms tightly around Grant. "Shut up, Tony," she said. "Darcy, that's enough."

Pepper didn't put her foot down about a lot when it came to the Avengers, but when she did—it stopped.

Grant buried his face against her shoulder, and she held him for a long moment.

"Tony, take Skye home," Pepper ordered, one arm still tight around Grant. "FitzSimmons too. They can stay with us tonight, and you can send Happy with a car to get me later. Darcy, go back to your Academy girls, and May, you make sure Clint and Nat stay out of here until Clint cools down."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Pepper shook his head.

"The kid's heard enough lectures today," she said firmly. "Steve, do me a favor and call Maria to see Coulson's status? We need some good news before bed."

Steve hung up a few minutes later. He took a deep breath. "Recovery's going very well, and Coulson's sleeping—naturally—now," he said, and Grant found he could breathe again. "They'll be re-locating him here tomorrow morning. If all goes well, you can see him then."

"Okay," Pepper said firmly. "Bed, Grant. And no, I don't want to hear it, because I know I'm going to be having this same conversation with Skye when I get home in fifteen minutes, so I don't want to have to argue with you, too. You need to rest."

Grant was more exhausted than he could have imagined, and he was grateful to sink into the pillow. The last thing he remembered before slipping off to sleep was Pepper's hand brushing hair from his forehead, her voice too soft for him to catch the words she was saying, but soothing nonetheless.

And that night, despite everything that had happened, the only dream Grant Ward had was of his mother…

* * *

_**AN: I wrote another 2500 words tonight because I got so many messages (as well as a couple reviews) from people saying they couldn't sleep without an update, so….apparently I'm not sleeping tonight, either, and I wrote another chapter. Yea, I realize that I resolved almost nothing in this chapter. I promise there'll be more resolution in the next one. **_


	5. Protector

Grant woke the next morning to someone's hand shaking his shoulder gently.

"Coulson was moved to the Hub med center this morning," Steve told him, and Grant was instantly awake.

"Can I see him?"

When Steve nodded, Grant scrambled out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt on over his loose sleeping shirt.

"Can we go now?"

A faint smile touched Steve's face, and he nodded again. "I can't promise we'll stay long, and if he's still sleeping, you're not allowed to wake him, understand?"

Grant nodded. "Is he—is he okay now?"

"He's got a ways to go yet," Steve said honestly. "But his recovery has gone much faster than they expected. The wound wasn't deep, though, thank god, so it shouldn't take him too long to be back on his feet."

"Do I have to go to school today?"

Steve shook his head. "Agent Hand and Commander Hill are going to have some questions for you, though."

Grant blanched, and Steve smiled slightly.

"Calm down," he said. "I think everyone has collectively decided to let Coulson handle you once he's recovered. They just want to know more about what happened—the attackers, the helicopter, what you saw."

Grant nodded. "Why do you think they wanted Coulson?"

"What?" Steve asked, cocking his head. "What do you mean they wanted Coulson?"

"Oh," Grant said. In the chaos that had followed, he hadn't told anyone what the attackers had said—and, he realized now, there had been no one else conscious enough to say it for him. "Coulson guessed that they were already surrounded, and he knew if he sent his team back all at once, they'd open fire. So he sent Sam and Wen to take me back to the transport. I think he was trying to save them, too. And I figured it out on the way back, but Sam and Wen didn't believe me until there was gun shots, and then I ran back and there was snipers everywhere." He stopped and shuddered slightly, and Steve put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go talk to Maria first," Steve said firmly. "I think you have a lot to tell us."

When they arrived in Maria's office, he expected to be greeted by another angry Avenger. Instead, it was all concern on her usually business-like face. "You okay, kid?" she asked, standing to greet them.

He nodded, and then shook his head slightly, and she sighed.

"Coulson will be okay," she told him firmly, and Grant clenched his fists to still the shaking in his hands. "Are you ready to tell us what happened?"

He took a deep breath, and then launched into the story he had begun to tell Steve.

When he had finished, Steve was staring at him. "You took on half a dozen snipers with nothing but Fitz's stun gun? And you stopped two armed men from taking Coulson with them? And you…shot at a helicopter?" He shook his head incredulously. "That's just…kid, do you have a death wish?"

Grant stared down at his hands, and Steve stood, scraping back his chair and exchanging a look with Maria.

Maria stood, too, and then abruptly held out her hand to shake Grant's. "Kid, I think what you did was incredible. Incredibly stupid, maybe," she added, and he winced slightly. "But what you did was also… it was also incredibly brave. There's a reason they call you the next Romanov, kid."

At the mention of Natasha, Grant looked away again. "Romanov would disagree," he said, and Maria turned to Steve, raising her eyebrows.

Steve sighed. "They were a little harsh with him last night," he said, and then looked down at Grant. "I guess I should saw _we_ were a little harsh with him."

"A little?" Grant laughed bitterly, a harsh, grating laugh that made him wince inwardly. "They hate me. It's my fault Coulson got shot"—

Steve's head snapped up, and he and Maria exchanged a look. "No. No, Grant, from the sounds of it, that ambush was in motion long before you even got there. And Coulson went back for a fallen agent, not because he had to rescue you, so none of that is your fault, you hear me? _None_."

"I shouldn't have come"—

"I agree," Steve said. "But no one's mad at you because of what happened to Coulson." He stopped, a small, almost unbelieving smile on his face. "Kid, you really think that _that's _why Nat and Clint and May are angry? Kid, they were just worried because you could have gotten yourself shot—and they're pissed off too, of course. But it's your complete disregard for your own safety that worries them. And nobody hates you."

Grant stared at him, and then looked to Maria, who nodded.

"He's right, kid. You're the only one who thinks you're to blame for what happened to Coulson," she said dismissively. "Now you should get him down to med. I hear Coulson was asking for you earlier."

When they arrived in the med wing, however, the nurse informed them that Coulson was sleeping again and needed his rest.

When she saw Grant's disappointment, however, the nurse's face softened. "If you promise me you'll let him rest as long as he needs to, you can wait in his room until he wakes. He'll want to see you as soon as he wakes, anyway."

When they entered Coulson's room, May was already inside, seated beside Coulson's bed.

"May," Steve said softly. "Can we talk?"

They slipped outside to the hallway to talk—Grant guessed he was telling her the whole story—and Grant took May's chair beside Coulson's bed.

Coulson looked worse than they had let on—he was very pale and far too fragile for Grant's liking.

The door opened again, and May re-entered, Steve just behind her. May stopped and stared down at him for a long moment, her arms folded.

"Steve told me what happened."

Grant didn't respond, and Steve moved forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry we were so hard on you last night," he said quietly.

"_I'm_ not," May snapped, but when she reached out and placed her hand on Grant's other shoulder, her touch was gentle. "You could have been killed"—

"Stop yelling at my kid," Coulson's voice interrupted them irritably, and Grant whipped around to face Coulson. The man had finally opened his eyes, and Grant found that suddenly emotion clenched uncomfortably in his throat.

"How do you feel?" Steve asked.

"Like shit," Coulson said, closing his eyes again, but reaching out and laying his hand on Grant's arm, the pressure warm and familiar. "Grant, you made it out okay?"

Grant nodded. "Yea. Fine. Is your agent okay?"

"Blake survived," Steve answered for him. "He's still in the ICU, but they say he's stable."

Coulson opened his eyes briefly, his gaze surprisingly intense when he looked at Ward. "You helped save his life, you know."

Ward looked up at him.

"And it could have cost you yours," Coulson added, his softly-spoken words slamming into Grant with more force than if he had shouted them.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Coulson's hand tightened slightly on his arm, and the pressure was comforting. "I know you're sorry," Coulson said softly. "And I hope you know it's not your fault I got shot."

Grant opened his mouth and then shut it again, and Coulson almost smiled.

"I was doing my job," Coulson continued, settling back on the pillows supporting him. "I was protecting my agent, and I knew what could happen. I'd do it again if I had to."

"Yea, and that's the problem," May barked, rolling her eyes. "Because so would he." She jerked her thumb at Grant, and he looked at the floor.

"Steve, help me sit up," Coulson ordered, and when Steve opened his mouth to protest, Coulson rolled his eyes.

Steve sighed and looked at May, and then together the two of them helped prop Coulson up with his pillows.

May looked down at him sternly, and he rolled his eyes again.

"It was a flesh wound," he told May.

"Is that why you had to have surgery to get the bullet removed from your gut?" May snapped. "You need to be taking it easy."

"It still barely grazed me," Coulson insisted. "I lost some blood, but I'm fine. Mostly just tired. Stop fussing."

"I don't _fuss_"— she broke off, shaking her head. "Well, I guess you must be better if you're back to being a stubborn old"—she broke off again, cursing in Chinese under her breath, and both Coulson and Steve grinned.

"That's the Melinda May I know," Coulson said, and May rolled her eyes, but Ward saw her hiding a tiny smile.

"May and I should go," Steve said. "Hill wanted us at the briefing, and I wanted to visit Blake in the ICU before we have to get there. Grant, you'll stay here until we get back?"

Grant nodded, and the two took their leave. When they were gone, Coulson patted the bed next to him. "Come here."

Grant sat down tentatively on the very edge of the bed, still poised as if he was about to take off running at any moment, but Coulson's arm snaked over his shoulders and drew him closer.

"You okay?" Coulson asked seriously, looking down at him with a gaze Grant avoided as best he could.

"You already asked me that," Grant said evasively.

"I see," Coulson said softly, as if that answered his question.

"Are _you_ okay?" Grant asked, his worried voice a little sharper than he would have liked.

Coulson didn't seem to notice his tone as he tightened his arm around Grant. "Yea," he said softly. "This"—he gestured to the bandage on the opposite side from where Grant—"isn't as bad as it looks. And it's part of my job."

"If you'd let me stay with you I could have covered you," Grant mumbled, and Coulson ruffled his hair gently.

"It's not your job to protect me," Coulson said firmly. "In fact, it's the other way around. If I had let you stay in that clearing, you would have been a perfect target—and if they were after me, they would have realized they could use you to get to me."

Grant looked away, and Coulson's arm left his shoulder and he reached around, tipping Grant's chin up so that he was forced to meet Coulson's gaze.

"Do you understand me?" Coulson asked sharply. "It's. Not. Your. Job. To. Protect. Me."

Grant nodded.

"Do I have your word you won't run off like that again?" Coulson asked firmly, though Grant could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"Yes," he whispered.

Coulson let out a long breath, settling back against the pillows. "Good," he said. "And you have _my_ word that I'm going to be honest with you next time I go on a mission. Because it wasn't fair not to tell you. And I'm sorry."

Grant nodded in acceptance of the apology, and then kicked off his shoes and curled up on the hospital bed next to Coulson, who wrapped his arm around Grant's shoulders again.

"You look exhausted," Coulson commented.

"So do you," Grant said irritably, trying hard not to yawn. "And I didn't sleep that much last night."

"I bet you didn't," Coulson said ruefully. "Were they all hard on you last night?"

"Mmm-hmm," Grant said sleepily. "Everyone but Pepper."

"Of course," Coulson smiled. "Thank God for Pepper. They'll come around, kid. They were just worried."

"S'what Steve said," Grant mumbled. "They still want to kick my ass."

"I'll tell them to leave you alone," Coulson promised, ruffling Grant's hair again as the boy curled into his (un-injured) side.

"Good," Grant murmured, not bothering to suppress his yawn this time. "Cause I want you to get better so you can kick my ass yourself."

Coulson laughed, wincing slightly at the impact to his wound, and opened his mouth to say something, but Grant was already asleep.

When May and Coulson came back about an hour later, they found the two of them like that: Coulson fast asleep, still propped in a sitting position against his pillows, and Grant, leaning against him, his messy dark hair sticking out at all angles and his eyes shut, fast asleep.


	6. Skye

_**Author's Note: So many of my lovely readers have asked me to write more about Skye, so finally, a Skye-POV, Skye-centric chapter. Set in the present (right after Coulson was shot while on the 0-8-4 op). **_

_**Also, apologies for the long wait. I just started university and life has majorly gotten in the way. **_

"Skye," Pepper shook her shoulder gently, and Skye groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers up closer to her face. "Skye, you need to get up. It's almost seven, and school starts in an hour."

"Not going today," Skye muttered, and Pepper shook her shoulder again, more insistently.

"You're not sick, are you?" she asked, and Skye groaned and opened her eyes.

"No," she admitted. "But Coulson's hurt and Grant's probably not going to school today"—

"Up," Pepper ordered firmly, and Skye rolled away, pulling the covers over her head. A second later, the covers were yanked completely off, and she was left lying in nothing but her pajamas—soft gray pajamas Pepper had bought for Skye right after she had first come to live with them.

"But mo-om," Skye complained, dragging the word out into many syllables—and then she stopped short, her face going red.

She hadn't called Pepper "mom" before.

Hadn't called anyone "mom" since that disastrous foster care family when she was nine.

Skye rolled to her feet, looking deliberately away from Pepper. As she reached for her clothes, she felt Pepper's hands gently sweeping her hair back.

"Would you like me to do your hair again before you go?" Pepper asked as if nothing had happened, but her tone was softer than normal. "I can curl it if you want."

Skye nodded. "Okay. Tony home?"

"Downstairs," Pepper responded, her hands already busy brushing Skye's hair. "He's making scrambled eggs. A billionaire, and he's cooking himself breakfast in some ratty old frying pan he found in one of his father's old boxes."

"I hope he adds cheese," Skye commented idly, still trying to shrug off her accidental use of the m-word. "So I was wondering… at school, there's this one hackers anonymous club"—

"Hackers anonymous?" Pepper interrupted, her hands pausing mid-brush-stroke in Skye's hair. "Is it… legal?"

"It's…well, it's not illegal," Skye said. "We don't hack anything while we're on school property. Usually."

"Usually?" Pepper raised her eyebrows.

"I mean, we don't. At all. And we don't actually hack…we just explore."

"O-kay," Pepper said slowly. "What was your question?"

"They meet every day after school. Can I go tomorrow?"

"Not today?" Pepper asked curiously.

"I thought…I thought I could go see Grant after school today. And Coulson. And see if they're both okay."

Pepper nodded in understanding. "Okay," she said. "I'll take you to Grant's after school today, and I'll talk to Tony about this hacker group."

"Exploration group," Skye corrected. "And Tony will let me go."

"Tony probably started it when he went there," Pepper said dryly. "I'll talk to him, but no promises, okay? I don't want you involved anything illegal. And we do need to talk about what happened at S.H.I.E.L.D. yesterday."

"You mean Grant being a complete idiot?"

"No, I mean you breaking into a computer lab and trying to steal important classified files."

"Oh. That."

"Yes, _that_," Pepper said, hiding the smile that appeared on her face despite herself, because for all the world this girl sounded just like Tony.

"Tony's hacked S.H.I.E.L.D. before. He told me," Skye defended herself.

As she stood behind Skye with the curling iron in one hand, Pepper rolled her eyes. "Tony is not a barely-fourteen-year-old with no need for classified documents. Tony was trying to find out about S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons right before the Battle of New York, and he did what he had to do. That's very different."

Skye scowled. "Not that different," she muttered.

"Skye," Pepper said softly, feeling the stiffness in Skye's shoulders when she set the curling iron down and placed a hand on each of Skye's shoulders. "It's not safe for you to know classified information. And it's _definitely_ not safe to try to infiltrate a government organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. Do you understand that?"

Skye sighed. "I guess," she said half-heartedly. "Am I in trouble?"

Pepper hesitated. "No," she said finally. "But I want you to be safe, okay? So if that happens again you'll be grounded." She pulled Skye to a seat on the bed so that she could continue curling her hair, but Skye curled in close to her.

"Is it okay?" Skye asked unexpectedly. "What…what I called you before? Is it okay if I call you Mom?"

"Yes," Pepper said, a smile spreading across her face as she wrapped her arms around the girl. "It's more than okay."

School went by slowly that day. Skye thought of Grant and Coulson, her mind buzzing, and then of Pepper—no, she corrected herself, a tiny grin on her face, _Mom_—and—

"Ms. Stark?" her math teacher's sharp voice jerked her to attention. "Were you listening?"

"No," Skye said, and when her classmates giggled and her teacher frowned, she sat up straighter. "Sorry. What?"

"If you can't pay attention in a basic math class, I'm not really sure why you're here, Ms. Stark," the teacher said tartly. "Class, there will be extra homework tonight—the even numbered problems on page 394."

The rest of the class groaned, and Skye winced inwardly. The students here were all from wealthy families, and they dressed and acted and spoke in a language that seemed uniform to everyone but her. She was already isolated from most of them—being the cause of added homework was not going to endear herself to them further.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that everything went to hell, though. It was just after lunch—Skye had the latest lunch period—and Skye was headed back to class. She was just passing the teacher's lounge when she heard her name mentioned.

—"In class again today," one of the teachers was saying, and Skye caught the end of the sentence. "What is Stark thinking—is this his good deed of the month, sending some misbehaving orphan to a good school like this?"

"I heard there was an actual adoption," one teacher commented. "Typical Stark, taking some half-assed idea all the way through. Wonder if he even knows her name, or if it's another PR thing."

"Yea, well he could stand to teach his little _PR stunt_ some etiquette," another teacher grumbled. "Showing up in her ripped up jeans and button-downs? I wish they would still enforce the uniform rule here."

"I wish they would still enforce _some_ kind of quality standards," the first teacher said, and they all laughed. "Then maybe we could stop Stark from dumping his newest projects off on us."

If she had been Grant, she would have kicked open the door and walked past, her head held high so there was no doubt in their minds that she had heard them. But she didn't think she could walk through without bursting into tears, as angry as she was, so she just turned on her heel and strode away down the hallway, wiping the back of her sleeve across her face.

She walked straight out of the school, ignoring the stares of a few of her classmates, and kept walking.

For a few minutes, she debated hotwiring a car—a skill Natasha had said was important for her to learn—but she would be easier to track down if she had a car, and right now, she just wanted to run.

She could go see Grant—but no, she reflected, he was probably in the hospital with Coulson right now, and not in any shape to have to deal with her problems.

Simmons would be at the Academy, but no one on god's green earth, not even Fitz, would be capable of making her skip class. Fitz, of course, would skip class if Skye so much as said she needed him, but what had just happened was small and petty and _goddamnit _she shouldn't be crying this hard—

She kept walking, trying to still the shaking in her hands. It wasn't true, she told herself. It wasn't. She wasn't a PR stunt or an orphan or—

"How's it going, sweetie?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Skye hadn't been watching where she was walking—just been walking aimlessly into the city—and now she was facing down two tall, beefy men on a rather dingy street.

She turned to run, and one snaked out a hand and dragged her back, his meaty fingers closing over her shoulder. "Not so fast, honey," he smirked, and the other one laughed at her look.

But it was not for nothing that she had been training with Natasha, and Skye brought down her foot right above the man's shoelaces, shattering his instep with a sickening _crunch_. She turned, using a back kick in the other man's ribs that both sent him crumpling to the ground and gave her the push she needed to run.

She didn't know how long she had been running—didn't know where she was going—could barely see because of the tears streaming down her face—when she collided with someone.

"Skye?" It was Tony. He was in a business suit, and he was staring down at her with a mixture of shock and concern. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the day. Are you okay?"

Skye looked around her. They were standing outside a restaurant, and behind Tony there was a group of men and women in business suits, all staring at her. Apparently, she had run into a more upscale part of town—and straight into Tony's business meeting.

"Skye?" Tony asked again, his voice soft. "What happened?"

For half a second, Skye debated turning and running, but then she stepped forward, crashing into Tony recklessly, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

A moment later, she was aware of a bright flash next to her, and she had just enough time to see that it was a photographer—paparazzi—before she heard Tony's voice.

"Fuck off," Tony told the photographer sharply, and then with one quick motion he had sent the camera crashing to the ground. "Bill me." He turned away, his arm still around Skye's shoulders. "Come on. Let's get you home."

"Excuse me, sir," one of the men in business suits said. "Didn't you have a meeting with them—the execs from Tokyo"—

"This is more important," Tony said dismissively. "If you have a problem with me, talk to Pepper, because I'm sure she has more. And she can deal with you. Come on, Skye."

Once they were in the car—Happy was driving, and Skye was grateful that he just squeezed her shoulder and didn't say anything—Tony turned to her.

"Whose ass am I going to kick?" he asked, his eyes full of concern, and Skye unbuckled, climbed over the seat, and curled up next to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I left school today."

Tony looked down at her, a small smile on his face. "Happy, how many times would you say I ran away from that school?" he asked lightly.

"I've heard different stories," Happy said. "But the numbers were always at least thirty-four, sir."

Tony's eyes were serious as he looked down at her, one hand gently stroking the hair out of her face. "What happened?" he asked softly.

When she told him, in halting, shaky words, about the conversation she had overheard—her voice breaking at the words "PR stunt"—Tony's eyes blazed. "Happy, how illegal is bombing a school?"

"Very illegal, sir. Unfortunately."

Tony wrapped his arms tightly around Skye, and when his arm grazed her shoulder where the men had grabbed her earlier, she winced. He looked down at her in sudden concern, almost panic. "Are you hurt?"

She nodded, and slid her shirt over so that he could see the bruises the attacker's large hands had left.

Skye heard his sharp intake of breath as his arms tightened around her.

"Who?" he asked, and she could tell he was trying to control the anger in his voice.

She shrugged. "I was running away and I wasn't looking where I was going and I don't know who they were"—

"Do you know what they look like?"

"I know that one has a broken foot and the other has a few broken ribs," Skye said.

"I take back every bad thing I've ever said about Natasha," Tony said fervently, and when Skye looked closer, she noticed his hands were shaking. "Do you think you could give Happy and I a full description later? When you're home and safe?"

She nodded, grateful that he didn't need her to say anything more.

When they arrived home, Pepper was at the door, her face dark with worry.

"Skye, where the hell"—

Tony shook his head sharply. "She's had a long day," he said firmly. "Will you make sure she gets a bath and something to eat? I have some ass to kick."

Unexpectedly, Skye found herself grinning. "Are you starting at the school or the other assholes?"

"Both," Tony said, his mouth a hard line. "No one, _no one_ treats my daughter like that."

And as Pepper put an arm over Skye's shoulders and lead her away, Skye couldn't help the small smile that lingered on her lips.

_Daughter_, she thought, catching her breath. _Daughter. _


End file.
